The Life
by thrufirewithoutaburn
Summary: Spot Conlon's life changed the night that he found Queenie gone...    A Sequel to The Prize.
1. Chapter 1

**Yes! here it is! The sequel to The Prize!**

The sound of a voice shouting from high above him distracted Jack Kelly from his walk home.

"Hey! Cowboy! You coming up soon?"

He looked up and met the eyes of a young girl leaning out of the window. She smiled down and threw him a wave.

"Well?" she called over the noise of the Manhattan street.

Holding up one finger, indicating for her to give him a moment, he walked away. He sauntered toward the door and reached for the handle coolly. It opened before his fingertips even got close.

"Hey, Jack!" Queenie exclaimed, smiling at the boy.

Internally sighing, he smiled patronizingly back at her.

"What did I tell ya 'bout goin' out the window like dat?"

Crossing the threshold, he ignored her sighing.

"It's been three weeks-" she whined.

He nodded as he pulled off his hat and his jacked.

"I know, Queenie. But wese gotta keep you outta sight until Ise can tell Spot-"

Queenie gave him a sharp look.

"You are not going to tell Spot that I'm here."

Jack sighed and plopped down on the front stairwell step.

"Fine."

Smiling in relief, she walked over and sat by him.

"Thanks, Cowboy that-"

He cut her off.

"Youse're gonna tell him."

She turned to him and just laughed.

"You know that is not happening, Jack."

A sad smile crept over Jack's lips.

"Yeah. Ise know, Queenie."

Patting her on the shoulder sympathetically, he stood and moved to walk up the stairs. But, when he reached the first landing, he turned and looked back at her.

"Queenie?"

She locked eyes with him.

"Yes?"

After a long beat, he shrugged.

"Hese gonna find youse been here eventually. Youse know dat."

Queenie nodded.

"Yes. But I hope I'm far from New York when he finds out."

* * *

Ghost threw his fist against Spot's door for the third time that evening.

"Spot!" he screamed, kicking the door with his dirtied boot, leaving a streak of mud across the wood.

Frustration coursed through the boy as he waited for a response from his leader. Three weeks had passed since The Night.

_The boys partied downstairs, letting their victory fuel their party. Boys drank, sang, joked, gambled, and enjoyed their win over Queens. Until the sound of a loud crash ruined the joyous celebration. Instantly, the entire room went silent. Another smash broke the stillness, and all heads turned toward Ghost. The newsie looked back blankly, shocked speechless. _

"_God dammit!" Spot's voice shouted._

_Something loud ricocheted off of a wall. Ghost sighed and stood. _

"_I'll be right back."_

_Jumping two steps at a time, the boy flew upstairs. Turning the corner, he threw the door to Queenie's bedroom open. _

"_Get out," Spot shouted, picking up his cane and raising it toward his second in command. _

_Throwing his hands up and wrenching the cane out of Spot's grasp, Ghost threw his leader a shocked look. _

"_What happened?"_

_But his leader was in hysterics. Furiously, he slammed the door behind Ghost and began going through the room, trying to destroy everything that reminded him of the girl. Dripping the walking stick, the lieutenant grabbed his leader by the wrists and held him still. He asked again._

"_What happened?"_

_Spot locked his jaw and looked away. Ghost slapped him unabashedly._

"_Spot."_

_Looking back at his subordinate, he furiously blinked tears back._

"_She's gone."_

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**Thank you so much for all of your support! Please read and review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Yes...I know it's been a while. I'm sorry! I promise I'm not abandoning this story! Please have faith in me. :) Oh, and review! I'm getting back to responding to all of the chapter 1 reviews as we speak.**

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Breaking himself out of the memory, Ghost pounded on the door again. His fist began to throb from all of the impact.

"Spot! Get out here, or Ise swear on all dat is holy, Ise am gonna bust dis door down."

Ghost heard a pathetic scoff reverberate from inside the room.

"Ise would love t'see youse try," Spot mocked him.

Sighing, the lieutenant tried the handle again, groaning when it still refused to give up.

"Spot, open dis door, now."

Listening, the boy waited at the door. Finally, after a long moment of Spot's indecision, the door cracked open.

"What youse want, Ghost? Ise busy."

It did not escape Ghost's attention that Spot was attempting (poorly) to hide the bottle of cheap liquor behind his back. It did not escape Ghost's attention that Spot's breath reeked of spirits. Using all of his strength, the boy shoved the cracked door open and let himself in. The room sat in disarray. Shattered glass sprinkled the floor, Spot's clothes were scattered across the room, and everything else cluttered the remaining space. It smelled like a sewer, and Ghost nearly gagged when he stepped inside.

"Spot-"

The leader laid across his bed.

"Don't start, Ghost."

Shrugging, the boy let it go.

"Fine."

Tense silence spread between the two.

"Youse just gonna stand there like a dope or youse gonna say somethin'?" Spot asked, giving his lieutenant a look as he took a swig from the bottle.

Snatching the alcohol from his leader, Ghost tossed it carelessly from the window.

"Da hell?" Spot shouted, watching as the bottle flew toward the alley before shattering loudly on the ground.

His mind set on shaking his friend from his current state, Ghost grabbed the boy by the collar and drug him from the bedroom to the washroom. And, as drunk as he was, Spot fought tooth and nail from Ghost's grip.

"Youse need dis, Spot. Take it like a man," the younger boy said.

When they reached the washroom, Ghost drug his leader to the basin. Shoving his head in the cold, wooden tub of water unceremoniously a few times, the boy struggled to sober his friend. Pulling up, he asked,

"You done yet?"

As Spot always did, he allowed a snarky comment to escape his lips.

"Ise could go all day, kid."

Annoyance ran over the lieutenant.

"Fine."

He dunked Spot's head a few more times.

"Alright-" Spot spluttered, pushing Ghost off of him.

The boy rose to his feet, shaking himself of the water.

"Dere's a party over at Medda's tonight, Spot. Youse should go. Pay ol' Jacky-Boy a visit."

Spot understood what his friend was trying to do; he appreciated it.

"Maybe Ise will."

Thankful his leader was finally starting to act himself again, Ghost began to make his way out of the washroom.

"Who knows?" he called behind him, "Maybe she'll be dere."

Spot doubted it, but began getting ready all the same.

* * *

"Cowboy, please!" Queenie begged.

She clung to the sleeve of his patchwork jacket as he struggled to get out of the door.

"Youse're the one who's afraid a' him knowing youse're here. Ise didn't even get allowed to tell all me boys dat youse're here."

Resisting the urge to throw a temper tantrum, Queenie just gripped his arm tighter. Holding on for dear life, she pleaded with the boy.

"I can stay in the back of the theater. I don't even need to sit by you. I just have to get out of this house. Please."

Cowboy looked down at the girl. Her big eyes bore into his, begging him.

"Yous're goin' stir crazy, huh?"

She nodded.

"Please, Cowboy. Ise just gotta get out for a bit."

He considered it for a moment, running over the idea in his head. The night wasn't an all-newsie event; Brooklyn hadn't been invited. If Queenie stayed in the back, his newsies wouldn't see her. Praying that he wouldn't regret it, he looked down at her sternly.

"One hour," he allowed.

Queenie instantly began celebrating, launching herself at the boy.

"But dat's all youse got. Ya'understand?"

Nodding furiously, the girl hugged him.

"Now, go get dressed. Youse're gonna freeze to death in dat dress."

Without another word, she sprinted up the stairs.

"Ise gotta feelin' dis is gonna be a long night," he muttered to himself.

Slipping his hat on, Cowboy stepped outside to wait for the girl.

* * *

**There it is! Chapter two! Please give me feedback! Review please!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Please Read and Review! I'm very excited about this chapter! :D**

* * *

When they arrived at Medda's, Cowboy hid Queenie in the back hallway nervously. He knew that, in hiding her there, she could still see everything, but also be set apart from the crowd.

"Don't move from 'ere, Queenie."

The girl didn't respond. She felt too intoxicated with freedom. Her eyes darted around, and she completely ignored the older boy standing in front of her.

"Queenie!" the boy nearly shouted.

She waved him off.

"Go have fun, Cowboy," she snapped, in awe of the whole theater.

He gave her a sharp look.

"I ain't takin' da heat from Spot if he catches you. Dis is all on youse, Queenie. Youse understand?"

Queenie gave him a patronizing look.

"I'll watch out for myself, Cowboy. Calm down."

Sternly sticking his finger out, he gave her a tough look.

"Youse're leaving in one hour."

Rolling her eyes, she nodded sardonically.

"Yes, your majesty."

Cowboy shook his head at her and walked off.

"See youse back at da Lodgin' House," he called to her, over his shoulder.

She waved lazily at him as she looked around the dance hall. Around her, the room buzzed with excitement. Newsies, factory boys, store runners, and young men of all shapes and sizes filled the building. She heard the band warming up in the orchestra pit as the crowd grew louder and louder with each passing second. Queenie smiled as she watched the controlled chaos and let the feeling of freedom encompass her.

"Wonderful," she whispered under her breath, a smile creeping on her face.

Within moments, the show started. Cat calls and whistles flew through the room, some from the cheap seats, some from the balconies, some from the tables. Queenie chuckled as she watched Medda take it all in, blowing kisses and waving her greetings from the stage. The band struck up some up beat reel, and the woman went into her dance. Her crimson dress flowed around her as she lithely glided across the stage, and Queenie found herself singing along with the familiar tune.

Medda strode off of the stage, getting the crowd involved with the number. Boys lunged out to touch her, to dance with her, and to sing with her. Queenie burst into laughter as she watched Racetrack hop upon his table and soft shoe to the beat of the music, mimicking the Medda's dance steps. Two boys tried to pull him down, but he held fast, showing off his skills for the crowd with a smile. The older woman watched the young boy steal her spotlight with a smile. The music continued to gain speed as she, with the help of several newsies, jumped on the table and danced right alongside the young Italian.

Had the music died down even for a moment, the young girl would have heard a young boy call her name. Unfortunately for the two of them, the music continued to play, drowning out a boy's desperate plea.

* * *

Spot Conlon wandered down the deserted Manhattan street, the darkness wrapping around him. A light snow fell, and the boy struggled to keep the memory at bay. The one memory of he and his girl sharing their first kiss on a dark, snowy street haunted him. He shook his head, trying to banish it from his thoughts as he neared Medda's dance hall, but they stubbornly stuck around, hiding in the back of his mind. Finally, Spot reached the theater and jumped inside, hoping a night of intense drinking might drown out the images.

Casually, he lobbed around the back hallway, not yet ready to join Jack's newsies. But then something caught his eye. The sight of a halo of hair cut into the edge of his vision. He spun his head around to seek the source of it, and his breath escaped his lungs when he saw it.

Queenie. She stood there, mere feet away from him, partly concealed by a curtain. She almost looked as though she was hiding from him. He saw her laugh uproariously at something in front of her. Spot felt no interest in what she laughed at. Her laughing, smiling face completely grabbed his attention and held it with the grip of life.

"Queenie?" he asked, not even believing she actually stood before him.

She didn't respond. The girl kept her eyes locked on the stage and the shenanigans in front of her. Spot couldn't tear his eyes away from her. He stared at her skin, more white than he ever remembered it being, and shimmering in the theater's light. His fingers twitched to reach out for her, but he resisted. His mind was playing tricks on him, he rationalized. If she had the gall to run away from him, he knew she would be far from New York by then. And he knew that if she was feet away from him, she would turn when he called. What he saw, he knew, was a spectre, an apparition. Not Queenie.

Heart plummeting from his chest to the floor, he felt hope flood out of him. The excitement-the elation he felt only a moment before- rushed from him. He sighed and struggled to tear his eyes away from her form. Striding down the hall and then turning into the theater, the King of Brooklyn walked toward Jack's table.

"Hey Jacky-Boy!" he said, smiling a fake smile and nodding with false respect.

Medda only just finished her number when Spot stole some younger newsie's seat beside Jack Kelly.

"Oh-" the other leader said, trying to recover from the minor heart attack that the boy's presence gave him, "Hey, Spot. How goes it?"

In spite of popular belief, not one stupid bone existed in Spot Conlon's body. He knew there was something going on.

"It's goin', Kelly. It's goin'. What's wit' da nerves?" he asked, referring to the boy's stammering greeting.

Jack tried to play it off.

"Nerves? No nerves 'ere, Spot. Jus' good times. Youse want something to drink?"

Spot nodded.

"Da usual."

The other leader ordered him what he wanted.

"So, Spot, anyone else wit' youse?" He started, but was cut off by the boy shouting across the table.

"Pink boy! Yeah, you in da pink shirt!" he said, calling out to Skittery.

The leader of Manhattan cut in.

"'Is name is Skittery."

Spot gave the other leader the brush-off.

"Whatchoo so nervous for, huh?"

Jack's gaze snapped to Skittery, who suddenly stood from his place at the table.

"Ise gotta go," he said, turning and leaving the table.

The Brooklynite watched as the other boy nearly sprinted from the room.

"What's got 'is pants in a knot?" Spot asked, suspiciously.

Casually, Jack took a long swig of his drink.

"No idea. Ise'll go see."

And with that, Jack followed his newsie. Spot had the creeping feeling that Queenie was closer than he thought.

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**Please read and review! I can't wait to get your reactions! He had Queenie in his grasp and let her go! Gasp! Drama. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

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Queenie took the back streets toward the Lodging House. Swiftly running, she felt safely cloaked by the dark shadows of the alleyways. Then, two hands grabbed her, pulling her back against a long body. She struggled, pulling away.

"Alex! Alex! Calm down! It's me! It's Skitts!"

Immediately, the girl ceased to fight, but relaxed in his arms.

"Thank you for scaring me to death," Queenie muttered sarcastically.

With a quick squeeze of a hug, Skittery released her. She turned to face him, struggling to see him in the dim light.

"Ise saw youse leavin' Medda's. Why are youse outta da house? Ise told youse-"

His words came out in a rushed mess, but finally he sighed and looked up at her, unable to help himself any longer.

"Spot was dere tonight."

She looked at him, her wide eyes filled with confusion.

"What?"

Skittery sighed.

"He was dere. He walked in and just-"

But Queenie was already running away from him.

"Queenie!" he called to her retreating back.

Refusing to turn, the girl kept on her course for the Lodging House. Emotions filled her. Fear, indecision. But mostly fear. She knew what she had to do.

Skittery followed her, walking far enough behind her as to give her space. He continued on course with her, even as she went to the basement of the Newsies' home. In order to hide her from the other boys, they made it her make-shift bedroom when she arrived.

"What are you doing, Queenie?"

He looked on as the girl furiously threw her clothes in an empty flour sack. And, although he knew how hard she tried to hide it, he saw her eyes filling with tears.

"Queenie?"

Not bothering to look at him, she went through the pile of mending at her bedside. With a sniffle, she pushed down her emotions and acted as though nothing bothered her.

"You need to give this shirt to Cowboy, I've finally gotten that button sewn back on. And give these socks to Specs. He's been waiting for me to get them back for a while. He's lucky his feet haven't frozen off yet. Oh, and I fixed the hem on Crutchy's pants, so give those to him," she spit out quickly as she could, throwing clothes into piles for him.

Finally, he walked over to her and pulled her into his arms, ignoring as she struggled against his grasp.

"Stop," he whispered, patting her back.

She wrenched herself away from him and shook her head.

"It's time for me to go," she said, sternly.

He furrowed his brow.

"What do youse mean?" he asked.

She chuckled as she picked up a pair of pants from the mending pile.

"Boots never can keep the knees in his pants, can he?" she mumbled to herself.

Folding them and placing them in his pile, she smiled sadly. But Skitts refused to let it go. He stared her down.

"What do youse mean, Queenie?"

"I have to go. If Spot finds me here, Cowboy will never hear the end of it. I don't want to be the cause of that again."

Skittery watched as she shouldered her bag.

"Youse can't go."

She adjusted it on her shoulder.

"I have to."

He saw the determination on her face.

"Is there anything Ise can do to make youse stay?"

Looking at the floor, she shook her head.

"Where're youse gonna go?" he asked.

Queenie shrugged.

"I don't know. I may get out of New York all together. Start over, you know?"

He nodded and gave her a hug. Keeping her composure, the girl broke away from him, up the stairs, and toward the living room.

"How's it possible to fall asleep dat fast?"

Another voice joined.

"Dat's what youse're wonderin' about?"

"Ise wanna know how's it possible for someone t'get so drunk so fast," a voice whispered.

The girl's ears tuned in on the voices.

"Ise don't know. Must just be a Brooklyn thing."

Brooklyn?

"Ise hope Queenie don't-"

But it was already too late.

"What is this?" she whispered, pointing at the boy laying at the foot of the stairs.

Newsies' heads snapped toward her. Queenie's eyes fell to the floor where they were all surrounded. A tanned boy slept there, his face peacefully relaxed and his toned body curled up. His cane lay forgotten at his side.

"Queenie!" Racetrack said, scooting to put space between her and the semi-conscious boy.

She knew what he was trying to do.

"Why is he here?" she asked.

Specs stood up.

"Hese was bar'ly awake when Madda finished her show. Wese couldn't just leave 'im."

Racetrack knew better than to try to decieve her.

"He'se drunk. Wese was afraid hese was gonna fall off da bridge if he tried to walk back t'Brooklyn. 'e's gonna have a monster hangova in da mornin'."

Queenie shouldered her bag.

"Queenie! Where's you goin'?" Specs asked.

She sighed and moved to go to the door, ignoring him.

"Queenie!"

The girl looked at him.

"I can't stay-"

But her words got caught in her throat the minute she looked down a the young boy on the ground. His eyes shut, she remembered that first night she ever saw him drunk. Somehow, he seemed less threatening, less trouble, when he was asleep. Her resolve to leave shattered. She refused to tear her eyes away from him.

"Bring him downstairs. I'll need water, a rag, and a black coffee."

A beat passed in the room.

"But I will be leaving in the morning. Make no mistake about that."

With that, she turned and stormed down to the basement.

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	5. Chapter 5

Moments later, Queenie tried to ignore the pulling feeling deep in her gut as she watched the King of Brooklyn sleep in her bed**_._** She watched as the boy sweat in the heat of the basement. Knowing that sweating the alcohol out could only cure him faster, she didn't yet reach over for the bucket of water or the rag to pat his face with it. Instead, she reached for the coffee and took a long swig, knowing the night could only get longer.

* * *

"Nothin's happenin'!" Boots stage whispered.

Several newsies fought tooth and nail to get the coveted spot at the door, so they could press their ears to it and listen. Race grabbed Boots by the scruff of his neck and yanked him away from the door, snatching up his place. He pressed his ear to the keyhole, straining his ears to hear any scrap of noise from below. But all the murmuring and vying for position that went on behind him drowned out anything he might hear.

"Dammit, will youse shut up?" he shouted, forgetting himself.

Then, a rustling from the basement. The boys scattered immediately, trying to look natural. Race stood, back turned to the door, looking at the newsies sitting on the stairs. Seconds after, the door opened.

"Race?" a sweet voice questioned from behind him.

He turned to see the face of Queenie, smiling beautifully at him.

"Alex!" he said, feigning surprise and joy at the sight of her face.

Without a word, she curled her finger, indicating that he should near her. He took a few steps toward the girl and she grabbed him by the collar, pulling him as close to her face as she could.

"Now, Race-"

He cut her off, matching her smile and her tone.

"Now, Alex-"

She ignored the urge to roll her eyes, keeping the smile locked on her face.

"I have a very irritable Spot Conlon in my bed, who will wake up with a monster hangover and, most likely, the intense urge to murder me for leaving him. So, you're going to stop yelling. Because I would like to be long gone before he wakes. And if you do not stop this ruckus right now, I will put you on Spot Conlon hangover duty. Do you understand?"

She said this all with the smile of an angel. Gulping, Racetrack nodded.

"Wonderful," she began, straightening out his jacket, "And stop listening at keyholes."

Turning on her heel, the girl tiptoed back downstairs. She sighed laborously as she heard much commotion at the door recommenced. Rolling her eyes and straightening her skirt, Queenie rushed down to the basement bedroom. As she expected, the boy from Brooklyn still slept soundly, his chest rising and falling very quietly as he drew in steady breaths. Her heavy eyelids drooped, but she took another long gulp of the now-cold coffee as she sat down into her chair at his bedside.

Unfortunately for her, her eyelids won their battle, sliding closed completely, and within moments, she fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

Spot Conlon woke in a cold sweat, bolting upright from the rough cot he was on. Rubbing his eyes, he looked around at the dark, unfamiliar room that surrounded him. His heart beat fast and he reached around for his cane, ready to strike any attacker.

But then he saw her.

She sat up in a chair next to his bed, a rag and bucket of water lay forgotten at her feet, while a coffee mug tipped haphazardly from her hand. Reaching out, he grabbed it before it fell.

"Heya, Queenie," he said, depositing the mug to the floor and reaching out for her face.

Still asleep, she turned her face from his hand, groaning as she dreamt. He breathed a breathy chuckle, though the strain pressed against the massive alcohol-induced headache that pounded through his head. He remembered back to the night before, or what he could remember. Spot smiled as he remembered imagining her at the theater, smiling and laughing. And here he was again, imagining her taking care of him. The boy refused to let himself believe she was really there. He sighed and put the mug on the floor before closing his eyes and falling back to sleep.

* * *

When Queenie awoke, she saw Spot still sleeping, completely at peace. She let a smile ghost across her lips before standing. Tying her hair back in a newspaper chord, she stretched and picked up her pack. Slipping off her shoes, trying to make as little noise as possible, she tiptoed up the stairs.

She opened the door to an empty lodging house, with the light peeping through the window. The sun only just began it's ascent over the city, the chilly wind blowing through. Nodding to Kloppman, who stood behind the counter and readied for another newsie morning, she headed for the door.

"Excuse me, Alex?" the old man croaked out.

She turned and looked at him. He waved in her direction, beckoning her toward him. Queenie did as he asked.

"Yes, Kloppman?"

Concentrating on the ledger before him, barely looking at her, Kloppman talked to the girl offhandedly.

"Where will you go?" the old man asked.

Queenie shrugged.

"I don't know. Maybe get out of New York."

Kloppman shrugged.

"You're still welcome here, you know."

A smile flitting across her face, she patted his hand gingerly.

"Thanks, Kloppy, but I can't stay."

Moving to leave, she made her way to the door. Her hand wrapped around the doorknob, ready to make her escape.

"It just seems to me that you can't always run away from your troubles."

After a moment, digesting what the man said, Queenie muttered a brief goodbye and walked out of the door.

"But what do I know?" Kloppman mumbled to himself, closing his ledger and sighing as he watched the girl walk down the street and away from the Lodging House.

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**Please review! I hope you enjoyed!**


	6. Chapter 6

Spot awoke the next morning to the sound of a door slamming somwhere far above him. The second his eyes popped open, he felt the splitting pain of a headache pulse through him and he groaned. Pulling himself slowly into a sitting position, he looked around the small room and tried to remember where he was. When he did, his heart skipped a beat. His eyes fell to the floor, where a coffee cup sat, nearly forgotten, beside his bed. Picking it up and downing the coffee, he stopped to think about what it meant.

Could it be that Queenie had been there? Had he not been dreaming?

Despite the pain throbbing through his head, Spot leapt from the bed and sprinted up the stairs. Filled with energy at the prospect that Queenie might be there, Spot searched for the leader.

"Cowboy!" he shouted, running through the building.

He heard nothing as he ran up the stairs toward the bunk room.

"Cowboy!" he called again.

Even as he came down the stairs and looked around, he heard nothing. When his eyes locked with the clock, he realized that the newsies would be selling by now. With the realization, he kicked the wall with his foot, anger flooding him. Reaching the front desk, he rang the service bell.

"Kloppy! Kloppy!" he shouted, impatiently tapping his foot.

The old man moved toward the King of Brooklyn.

"Yes, may I help you, young man?"

Annoyance flooded Spot.

"Where's Queenie?" he snapped.

Feigning confusion, the man thumbed through his check-in book.

"I don't think we have a newsboy by that name-"

Huffing, Spot shook his head.

"Not a newsie. A girl. Alex Mahony?" he spat out, over-annunciating every syllable so that there would be no misunderstanding.

Kloppman fought with himself. He swore to Cowboy he would not tell anyone that she stayed with them. But the distress of the young man tore at the old man's heart strings.

"Alex Mahony?"

He closed the book subtly and made his decision.

"I don't believe we have anyone here by that name."

Sighing, trying to not show the feeling of defeat that sunk to the pit of his stomach, Spot tipped his hat.

"Fine."

He fought to keep his composure and not break something.

"T'anks."

Strutting out of the door, he fought the urge to scream at the top of his lungs. Instead, he walked the familiar path to the Manhattan distribution center, ready to ask Cowboy what he knew.

* * *

Queenie sighed as she sunk onto a bench in a park somewhere in the city of New York. She spent the entire day walking aimlessly around the city, running away from Spot Conlon. It seemed that all Queenie ever did was run. She ran away from the refuge. She ran away from West. And here she was, running away from Spot for the second time. Indecision made it's ugly path through her heart, planting seeds of doubt everywhere it went, but she attempted to push it away. Queenie took in a deep breath and sighed, hugging her shawl closer to her and attempting to fight off the chill that sunk deeply into her bones. Her eyes slid shut as she slid deeper into the park bench, and she dozed off into a light sleep.

"Queenie?" A voice roused her from afar and she left from the bench.

Hand on the bag at her side, ready to flee, Queenie looked for the source of the voice.

"Queenie!" Spot's newsie, Jazz called as he stood a few feet away, staring at her.

He waved, but she ignored it, grabbed up her bag and took off in the opposite direction.

"Queenie! It's Jazz!"

Confusion marred his tone, but as he watched her retreating back, he finally understood.

"Queenie! Ise'm not gonna turn youse in t'Spot."

She stopped dead in her tracks and turned to look at him. He chomped casually on an apple and smiled at her.

"Well, aren't youse a sight for me poor eyes."

Queenie just stared at him.

"Youse don't gotta look at me like Ise gonna bite youse or nothin'," he joked, chuckling under his breath at her frightened expression.

Relaxing infinitesimally, she walked a bit closer to him.

"You won't tell Spot you saw me?"

He nodded.

"I'd nev'a break da word I gave t'a lady. Me mother taught me better. Ise swear Spot'll never know youse're here or dat Ise saw youse. You got me word."

Jazz sat down on her bench and motioned for her to sit next to him. She did as he asked and sat calmly beside the boy.

"So, why did youse leave, Queenie, me dear?"

Had she not been so frazzled, Queenie might have laughed at his lack of tact. She paused before answering.

"He- He wasn't who I thought he was," she responded, pointedly looking at the sidewalk and not the young man.

The boy next to her chuckled.

"Youse're mad he went 'n' fought wit' West?"

With a sigh, she turned and stared indignantly at him.

"Am I not allowed to be?"

A wild wind blew threw the two of them, making her shiver and he stood.

"Dat's f'youse to decide. Ise can't tell youse dat."

Refusing to look up at him, Queenie tried to not pout at the fact that Jazz took Spot's side. He sighed.

"Look, Queenie. Youse should know dat Spot-"

A voice rang out through the park, reaching the two young people.

"'Ey! Jazz! Where youse at? Wese was supposed to be at da bridge ten minutes ago! Dealer found Spot at da Distribution Center!"

Queenie's heart skipped several beats at the sound of Spot's name. Not wanting Hayseed to see her, Jazz threw a wave to the girl and ran in the direction of his friend.

"Good day to you, too, Jazz," she mumbled under her breath before returning to her thoughts.

"_Youse should know dat Spot-_"

She should know that Spot _what? _

Groaning under her breath, Queenie resigned herself to not knowing. And, trying to force down the feeling that what he had to say was important, Queenie stood and began walking toward her next destination.

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**Please Review! I hope you loved the chapter? Favorite part? least favorite part? What do you want to see in this story!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Guess who is back? The Life! Yes! Thank you for all of your support, my dear readers and reviewers! Enjoy!**

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Spot Conlon knew something was up. He knew it. Jack cautiously dodged any questions about his girl, opting instead to deftly change the subject and avoid the questions all together. Furiously, Spot returned to his territory, fighting all the while to swallow his anger and replace it with indifference. But he found that the more he tried, the more he completely failed.

"Jazz," he called to the boy behind him.

Jogging ahead to meet his leader, he nodded.

"Yeah, boss?"

Spot swallowed tightly, wiping the anger from his eyes.

"I need a favor from youse."

Jazz nodded again.

"Ise need youse to go out and look f' Queenie."

Hot fear flushed through the newsie as he heard the words.

"But, Spot, Queenie's long gone by now. She could be anywheres-"

Sharply turning to stare down his underling, Spot clutched his cane for dear life.

"I know she was dere last night, Jazz. I know it. It's just all a'matter a' findin' her. So, all da time youse got, yous're gonna look for her. You understand?"

Gulping in air, Jazz nodded. He shoved his shaking hands into his pockets to try and hide them.

"Sure, Spot. I understand."

Adjusting his cap, the king turned and began striding- a bit more confidently- toward his home base.

* * *

By nightfall, Queenie was a wreck. She prided herself on her ability to take care of herself and everyone around her. But by the time the sun sunk below the sky line and the underbelly of New York crawled from under their rocks, Queenie found that her bag had been stolen, she had no money for food, travel, or lodging, and she was utterly and completely lost.

"Well, not totally lost," she whispered to herself as she leaned against a wall.

Her eyes looked out onto the mighty rushing water of the Hudson river as snow fell heavily around her, dousing her in white frozen misery. She slid down the wall, sitting down in a towering mound of snow, yet unable to care a whit about it. Water and chill rose up into her skin, freezing her to the bone, but- lost in her own thoughts- she barely noticed until her entire body shook violently from the chill.

Sullenly, she rose to her feet and shook the snow from her body. With a sigh, she took off walking once more into the deep night, her pathway lit by few lamps along the docks.

"C'mere, dear," a voice called from a window.

The girl looked up, only to meet the gaze of a lewdy dressed woman.

"It's warm inside with us. Money and food, besides."

Queenie looked down and scuffled away from the brothel, ashamed to even be near it. But somewhere, deep down within her, the offer was tempting. She longed for food in her stomach and a warm bed. Shaking the idea off, however, she took off running. In her haste, she tripped over her own feet and fell into the snow- face first. Eyes buried in the white powder, she couldn't see the man standing before her.

"Well, look who's fallin' back at my feet."

He chuckled and a booted foot tapped her shoulder. Bringing her head up, she locked eyes with the man. Captain, leader of the West Side.

_Damn._

"Gee, dat face a' yours just gets more and more ha'riffyin' every time Ise see it."

Queenie tried to pull herself up, but the boot on her shoulder keep her firmly at his feet.

"Ah, outside dis fine establishment. Spot get tired a' youse?"

Gulping down a response, she shook her head.

"Good. Cause hese promised me dat I could have youse when he was done."

A devious smirk came over his face. The lamp light flooded his face, making it darker and more evil than she ever imagined it before.

"So, youse left 'im, did youse?"

The girl squared herself.

"I don't know how that is any of your business."

Captain chuckled to himself.

"I guess yous're right. But, I guess dat means I don't have any business helpin' youse either. Enjoy da cold, little Queen."

He turned to walk away, but she rose to her knees.

"You would help me?"

Turning his face, he laughed at the desperation in hers, knowing that his game was working like a charm.

"Not anymore."

He reveled in the way her eyes traveled between her two options: the brothel, and him.

"What would I have to give you?"

Queenie became desperate. It was getting colder by the second, and she knew she could not last a night on the streets in the weather with no where to go in the morning. Swaggering toward her, Captain let a smirk grow on his face.

"Youse would only have to ask meself nicely."

Every cell of Queenie's body resented and rejected the request. She rose to her feet, and turned to walk away.

"Forget it," she said.

She turned and began stumbling away from him. The girl resolved to walk away and find something else-anything else- to turn to.

"Fine," he began, turning to walk away himself.

Feigning realization, though, he turned back around.

"Youse should know, Queenie, dat da brothel's gonna be da only other place to take you in right now. Oh, and it's only gonna get colder tonight. I hope youse enjoy freezin' t'death."

He spoke each word with nonchalance and began walking back toward his lodging house.

"Wait-!" Queenie called after him.

Turning, he hid his giddy elation.

"I can't stay here all night. And I won't go in there."

Captain mocked her with his bravado.

"Of course, youse can't."

He walked toward her, getting eerily, uncomfortably close.

"All youse gotta do-" he said, grabbing her shoulder and pushing her to her knees in the snow, "is ask."

Queenie gulped and looked up at him. In that moment, she realized how much she truly hated him.

"May I please stay at your lodging house tonight, Captain?"

Triumphant, he let go of her and walked away.

"A'course youse can. Ise gotta friend whose been dyin' t'see youse."

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**Ooooohhh... Who is the friend? Will Jazz ever find her? Will Spot? What did you think? Let me know!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Things are starting to get really interesting in this story and I'm so excited for you all to read it! Please keep reviewing and reccomending this story throughout Online Newsie land/fandom. :) **

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The clock feebly struck midnight, and Spot Conlon still sat by the front door of the Lodging House in Brooklyn. His newsies welcomed him warmly, glad that their leader was back and Ghost wasn't in control anymore. The newsies revered and respected Spot, while Ghost was nothing more than a large joke to them.

_When the crowd from around Spot cleared, Roller bounced about him for hours, never losing his energy. It wasn't until after supper, though, that the anticipation nearly killed him, and words poured from him._

_"So, Spot, youse go out and find Queenie?"_

_He ignored the boy, opting instead to talk to Hayseed._

_"Spot!" a voice rang out anxiously._

_Roller tugged on his leader's sleeve, pleadingly._

_"Spot!" he asked, dragging out the word imploringly._

_Continuing his conversation as though the young boy didn't even exist, Spot chuckled at something Hayseed said._

_"And den what'd youse do?" he asked him, a chuckle still on his lips._

_A little body then materialized directly in front of Spot's face._

_"Spot!" He shouted, frustrated at the constant brush-offs._

_In a moment of lost patience, the leader snapped back with equal annoyance._

_"What!" _

_Reeling back, shock crossed over the younger boy's face. A memory flashed in the back of Spot's mind. Memories of his girl and the way she treated Roller with such kindness. He swallowed back the guilt it made him feel and steeled himself._

_"What, Roller?" he asked, quieter, but even colder._

_Glad the shouting ceased, the light appeared back in Roller's eyes. _

_"Did youse go and find Queenie?"_

_Not even a beat passed before the young boy tugged on Spot's sleeve again._

_"Did youse? Did youse?"_

_Spot shook his head nonchalantly._

_"Nah, Roller. I didn't gose out t'find hers," the leader muttered, not meeting the young newsie's eyes._

_The little boys eyes furrowed in confusion._

_"Don't youse want her back?"_

_Spot shrugged him off, waving his hand in the boy's direction as though he was waving a fly away._

_"Why would Ise? Wese don't need girls 'round here, Roller. Wese fine."_

_Roller's eyes grew to the size of supper plates, and he looked as though some one just told him that Santa Claus didn't exist._

_"Youse don't want Queenie back?" he asked, breaking each syllable apart slowly, as though they were words of a foreign language. _

_By this point, the entire room tuned into their conversation. Spot lazily picked up a stack of playing cards from the table before him and carelessly shuffled through the deck._

_"Dat's what Ise said," Spot said, glad that no one knew of the promise he forced Jazz into._

_Disappointment sunk into Roller's features as he turned to walk away. _

_"'Ey, Roller."_

_Lighting up, imagining that it was all just a joke, the boy spun so hard he almost fell over._

_"Yeah, Spot?"_

_Dealing out some cards for a game of five-card stud, Spot barely even leant the younger boy a glance._

_"Next time, don't interrupt mese when Ise'm talkin' t'someone. Youse got dat?"_

_Fully deflated by the end of his leader's words, Roller nodded and walked from the room._

_"Spot-?" began Dealer, his confusion echoing the confusion of every boy in the room._

_Picking up his cards and popping a cigarette between his lips, he looked up._

_"Yeah?"_

_The steel in his eyes matched the steel of his heart, and everyone saw it. And in that moment, everyone's belief in his love for the girl vanished. She meant nothing to him. At least, that's what they believed. But if they had seen him the way Jazz saw him that morning, or the way Ghost saw him the night she left, not even a shred of doubt would have been found. _

_"Nothin'. Let's play."_

So, Spot sat there, listening to the clock barely croak out time as he nursed his last cigarette. Every few seconds, his eyes flickered to the door, waiting for it to creak open. But, as the clock crawled toward one, Spot's patience ran thin. The cigarette died out, and he stood, pacing anxiously until a burst of Arctic air flew through the room. His head snapped toward it's source and relief flooded him.

"Jazz, youse think youse got heres late enough?"

Shivering, the younger boy stalked into the room and strode over to the dying fire place. Rubbing his hands together, he tried to warm himself, but with no success.

"God, it's freezing," came the boy's only response.

Following him, Spot walked over.

"What'd youse find out? What'd youse see?"

Now came the difficult part for Jazz, because, in fact, he hadn't looked at all. After the promise he made to Queenie, he knew that no amount of pleading or threats from Spot could ever make him actually look for her. Jazz saw the look in her eyes and the way Spot's betrayal cut her to the core. He knew that if he was responsible for Spot finding her, he could never forgive himself. But most of all, he knew that finding Queenie for Spot would mean nothing because all Queenie really wanted was for Spot to find her. And for Spot to apologize. Lies come forward from him as though they were second nature.

"Ise looked all over, Spot. But no one's heard or seen from 'er."

Spot scoffed, not buying that.

"Someone's gotta've seen Queenie, Jazz. Youse aren't lookin' hard enough."

Jazz tried to cover it up and divert Spot's attention, to no avail.

"But, Spot, Ise looked and asked around since we'se got back t'Brooklyn."

Spot kept a stranglehold on his cane and ground his jaw, his frustration evident.

"Did youse check da ferries?"

Not missing a beat, Jazz's lie rolled off his tongue.

"Yes."

Spot began pacing, jittery from all the nervous energy.

"Da factories?"

Jazz nodded.

"Yeah, Spot. I told youse-"

Rattling off more places, his pacing increased.

"Tibby's?"

"Yeah."

"Medda's?"

"Uh-huh."

"Romano's?"

"I told youse, Spot-"

"Da Train station?"

The younger stared into the fire.

"Yep."

Snapping, Spot ceased his pacing.

"Not dat one, da one in Manhattan."

Inching closer to the fire, Jazz shrugged.

"Yeah, Jack. All of 'em. Dere's no sign of 'er."

Adjusting his grip on his cane, his nervous habit, Spot tapped his foot.

"After youse sell tomorrow, we'll both go out."

Jazz opened his mouth to protest and leapt to his feet.

"No, Jazz. Dat's final."

Without another word, he turned and exited the room.

* * *

Queenie boldly kept her chin up the entire walk to the West Side Lodging House. Time after time, Captain tried to wrap an arm around her, or speak to her, but she shrugged him off. She shivered, the snow soaking into her skin, but she tried to hide it, knowing that he got immense pleasure from her suffering.

"Here we are," Captain said, motioning to a run-down building wedged in between two tenement houses.

A shiver went up and down Queenie's spine as she looked upon the lodging house. The brick seemed to be falling apart. Cracked windows painted the façade, making it all the more foreboding. She gulped, and felt the all-to familiar feeling of eyes watching her from a close distance.

"C'mon, little Alex," mocked Captain.

Wrapping his paw-like hand around her wrist, he pulled her along in spite of her protests. The streetlamps barely flickered, casting ghostly shadows across the building, and a sick feeling built up in her gut.

"Captain, I-"

Ignoring her, he drug her up the front stoop of the building and swung open the door.

"Guess who Ise found hangin' outside da whorehouse down da way?" he shouted.

Swinging her by her arm so that she fell to her knees, Captain chuckled.

"Ise told you dat Ise had someone who wanted to see youse."

Queenie looked up into a familiar pair of eyes.

"It's good t'see youse, Alex. Or, should Ise call youse Queenie know?"

Gulping, she looked down, and knew that she never should have left Brooklyn.

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**Oh my goodness! What's going to happen? Please read and review! I'd love your input! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Three updates in one afternoon! LIKE A BOSS! Enjoy this chapter! Please read and review! It means the world to me.**

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"_It's good t'see youse, Alex. Or, should Ise call youse Queenie know?"_

Queenie gulped and looked into the eyes of a boy she betrayed.

"Hello, West," she said, trying to put on a brave face.

She never feared him until this moment. A devious smirk crawled across his face and he stood to his full height. Digging into his pocket and pulling out a few bucks and some coins, he wordlessly handed them to Captain, who nodded and tipped his hat mockingly in Queenie's direction.

"Somehow Ise always knew youse'd come crawlin' back t'me," West said, smirking triumphantly.

He strolled across the room and stared her down.

"Ise only had t'lose my territory, lose my newsies, and lose everythin' else dat I ever worked for."

She cringed at the way his temper and words flared.

"But it's okay."

Queenie sighed in relief. A relief that quickly vanished. Placing either hand on either side of her face, West leaned in so he was only a breath from her.

"Cause Ise gots you."

And with that, he crashed his lips to hers.

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The next afternoon, Jazz and Spot set out. Jazz constantly attempted to drag out Spot's deeply-rooted idea that he had to personally seek the girl out, but to no avail. As they set out from Brooklyn to trek through territory Jazz hadn't rifled through.

"We'll start up in Queens, 'n' if wese don't find hers, wese'll go up through Harlem, and den East and West Side if wese gotta. Y'dig?"

Gulping, Jazz nodded and followed his leader. The pair of newsies walked through their territory and asked around for the girl. No one had seen her. Jazz and Spot only stopped when they got to the Lodging House at Queens. Using the top of his cane to knock on the front door, Spot and Jazz waited for a response. After a few moments, a small body answered the door.

"What d'youse want?"

The little boy's eyes narrowed as he looked up at the leader of Brooklyn. His little jaw ground in pure rage and he crossed his arms. Spot squatted down.

"What's your name, kid?"

Taking a step forward in a single act of defiance, the boy spoke.

"Rabbit."

Leaning on his cane, Spot opened his mouth to respond.

"Well, Rabbit. I'm Spot Conlon."

At the sound of those words, Rabbit slammed the door in the leader's face. Unable to control himself, Jazz laughed so hard his sides hurt. His leader gave him a dirty look, instantly silencing him. Raising his cane to knock again, Spot stood to meet whoever answered this time.

"Hello?" A boy, much larger and older said.

Jazz smiled and held out his hand, not even casting another look in Spot's direction.

"How goes it, Bear?"

The large boy smiled and shook his old friend's hand.

"Well enough, well enough. Wanna come inside?"

Taking the initiative, Jazz walked in. Straightening, Spot followed, although begrudgingly. Rabbit stayed behind Bear's legs, though he kept a hawk-like stare on the leader of Brooklyn.

"So, where's Rust? Enjoyin' his new territory?"

Bear nodded.

"He's enjoyin' it good enough. Missin' Queenie somethin' terrible though. Most of us are."

He looked at his little brother, knowing that his little brother took it maybe the hardest.

"So, youse ain't seen Queenie?" Spot asked, marred with confusion.

Shaking his head, Bear looked at the leader.

"We thought she was wit' youse."

Pushing from behind his older sibling, Rabbit lunged at Spot.

"What did youse do wit' Alex?" he asked, his eyes narrowed.

Holding the boy's shoulder to keep him still, Spot shook his head.

"Ise haven't done anything wit'er. Ise tryin' to find hers. She ran anway da night dat wese beat West outta here."

Uneasy, Rabbit stepped away from Spot.

"Wese haven't seen hers since she's been wit' youse," he said, accusingly.

Spot stood then and walked over to Bear.

"Youse haven't?"

Bear shook his head.

"Nah. Haven't seen West either."

A moment passed in silence.

"Okay. But if Ise find out-" Spot began to threaten.

Holding up his hands, Bear stepped back.

"Wese haven't seen her, Spot. Ise'd tell youse if we did."

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Queenie pushed away from West after a moment of him attacking her lips.

"West-!" she said, scandalized as she stood away from him.

Running her hand across her mouth, disgusted, she shuddered. Looking at the boy, she that she hardly knew him anymore. He became something different all together, a dark, new creature who would soon haunt her nightmares.

"C'mon, Alex. Let's go."

He grabbed her by her arm, dragging her out of the door.

"Where're we going?" she asked, trying to wriggle from his grasp.

Releasing her, but putting her in front of him to keep her walking, he smiled.

"Wese're goin' t'get back what's ours, Alex. Goin' to get back Queens."

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**Please read and review! I really want to hear what you think!**


	10. Chapter 10

** Long time no update, huh? Please read and review! I missed you all so much!**

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Spot Conlon pushed his way from the Queens lodging house with a huff. Already mid-morning, the day was slowly slipping away and they still had no lead on his girl. She left, and they had no way of getting her back.

"Spot, I think she must've gotten on a train or something. If she didn't go back to Queens, she had no wheres else to go," Jazz implored.

Jazz wanted nothing more than to keep Queenie safe, as he promised. If she wanted back into Brooklyn, she would go. Spot forcing her back would not have anything good come from it and he knew.

"Jazz, if you don't wanna be here, go. Ise can't have dead weight. You don't agree wit' me goin' to look for her, fine. Go back to Brooklyn."

A foreign coldness flooded Spot's voice, chilling Jazz to the bone. Slowly, he found himself nodding.

"Ise think Ise should go back-"

Spot waved him off without care. Good riddance, as his mother would have said.

"Spot, maybe she doesn't wanna be found."

Silver eyes snapped to Jazz's.

"Go," he breathed coolly.

Jazz obeyed, nearly sprinting away from his leader, well aware that he couldn't sit back and watch Spot wreck Queenie's life.

He would simply have to find her before Spot did.

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West shoved a new sweater on Queenie's body as he spoke.

"What're the rules for when we leave dis place?"

Queenie shook.

"I'm going to hold your hands at all times."

Pacified, West nodded as his hands lingered on the buttons.

"Next?"

Gulping, she continued.

"I am going to listen and obey all of your orders."

Finishing with the sweater, West grabbed her face in his paws.

"That wasn't all I said."

Struggling to fight down the bile that rose in her throat, Queenie answered.

"I am going to listen and obey all of your orders immediately without question or debate. My opinion is not wanted or needed."

Her eyes glued themselves to the floor as she struggled against his grip.

"That's a good girl. Now, let's be off. Wese gotta a life to get back."

He pulled her along and barked orders to a newsie at the door.

"Youse! Youse go to Brooklyn and spread the word that Ise'm goin' to Manhattan."

The young newsie looked up at him in confusion.

"But, West, what good'll that do?"

Resisting the urge to slap the insolent kid, West's face filled with anger.

"Just do as I say!" He shouted.

Nodding, the young boy leapt up and sprinted from the lodging house, refusing to look back. Queenie wanted to shout, to scream and ask why everyone in the building ignored the woman captive in his arms, but she knew how little good it could do. West brightened up minimally.

"Are you ready?"

Without waiting for a response, he began to strut from the door, pulling her behind him.

"Good!" He shouted, a smile welded to his face.

Queenie forced herself to continue breathing at a normal pace and struggled to keep up with his fast footfall through the borough.

"West, wait-"

He shot her a warning look, and she tilted her head down.

"Sorry, West."

Nodding and smiling down at her, West stormed through the city, in search of his lost territory.

Spot carefully combed each city block of Queens, nearly begging people for any word of Queenie. Sure enough, no one had seen her or done business with her. He felt an odd disquiet in his heart and struggled to fight it down.

He would find her. Make no mistake, he swore he would get her back and get her back he would.

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**Please read and review!**


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